But Spike neglected no precaution that experience or skill could suggest.  He had chosen his spot with coolness and judgment.  As the boat rose on the seas he looked eagerly ahead, and by giving it a timely sheer, he hit a sort of channel, where there was sufficient water to carry them clear of the rock, and where the breakers were less dangerous than in the shoaler places.  The passage lasted about a minute; and so serious was it, that scarce an individual breathed until it was effected.  No human skill could prevent the water from combing in over the gunwales; and when the danger was passed, the yawl was a third filled with water.  There was no time or place to pause, but on the little craft was dragged almost gunwale to, the breeze coming against the lugg in puffs that threatened to take the mast out of her.  All hands were bailing; and even Biddy used her hands to aid in throwing out the water.

“This is no time to hesitate, men,” said Spike, sternly.  “Everything must go overboard but the food and water.  Away with them at once, and with a will.”

It was a proof how completely all hands were alarmed by this, the first experiment in the breakers, that not a man stayed his hand a single moment, but each threw into the sea, without an instant of hesitation, every article he had brought with him and had hoped to save.  Biddy parted with the carpet-bag, and Senor Montefalderon, feeling the importance of example, committed to the deep a small writing-desk that he had placed on his knees.  The doubloons alone remained, safe in a little locker where Spike had deposited them along with his own.

“What news astern, boatswain?” demanded the captain, as soon as this imminent danger was passed, absolutely afraid to turn his eyes off the dangers ahead for a single instant.  “How come on the man-of-war’s men?”

“They are running down in a body toward the wreck, though one of their boats does seem to be sheering out of the line, as if getting into our wake.  It is hard to say, sir, for they are still a good bit to windward of the wreck.”

“And the Molly, Strand?”

“Why, sir, the Molly seems to be breaking up fast; as well as I can see, she has broke in two just abaft the forechains, and cannot hold together in any shape at all many minutes longer.”

This information drew a deep groan from Spike, and the eye of every seaman in the boat was turned in melancholy on the object they were so fast leaving behind them.  The yawl could not be said to be sailing very rapidly, considering the power of the wind, which was a little gale, for she was much too deep for that, but she left the wreck so fast as already to render objects on board her indistinct.  Everybody saw that, like an overburthened steed, she had more to get along with than she could well bear; and, dependent as seamen usually are on the judgment and orders of their superiors, even in the direst emergencies, the least experienced man in her saw that their chances of final escape from drowning were of the most doubtful nature.  The men looked at each other in a way to express their feelings; and the moment seemed favourable to Spike to confer with his confidential sea-dogs in private; but more white water was also ahead, and it was necessary to pass through it, since no opening was visible by which to avoid it.  He deferred his purpose, consequently, until this danger was escaped.